


Pain Ting

by Elleh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Needles, Pain Kink, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, tattoo artist au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 13:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12343440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleh/pseuds/Elleh
Summary: "Ah, Iwa–chan.”Hajime drinks his pet name, his hand tangled on Oikawa’s hair, pulling him. Oikawa moans so loud Hajime feels it on his chest, and so he does it again. The pain, Hajime has learned in these long weeks of work, is Oikawa’s weak spot.“Use it on me,” Oikawa pants, his hands traveling through Hajime’s chest right into his cock.Hajime flinches. “What?” He dazes his gaze around. “Use what?”“The needle,” Oikawa explains, breathless. “Use it on me while you fuck my ass.”





	Pain Ting

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the kinktober day 6, although the prompts are not exactly the same. I'm not sure under what prompt this is (Pain? Needles?) but all the prompts from day 6 have inspired me somehow, so. Here we are.

There’s an exhilarating satisfaction in a job well done. Hajime hums softly when the clean dark lines of the tattoo lay in front of him, a piece of art. An awesome piece of art, if he’s allowed to say so. The outline of a koi and a dragon fighting in a mystical forest is finally complete, a month of work and sweat and hours of constant buzzing of his needle on the small room.

Hajime inhales sharply and can’t stop the grin from spreading when he takes a step back, and admires the taut muscles of the man’s back and the perfect lines decorating it.

“How are you feeling?”

“Great, Iwa–chan.” Hajime rolls his eyes at the pet name, but he catches the underlying tremble in his voice nonetheless. Oikawa has his hands under his forehead, and although the posture looks relaxed, the sharp shadow of his biceps tells Hajime another story. “Can I see it?”

“Sure. Let me grab you a mirror.”

Oikawa is sitting once Hajime comes back, two mirrors on his hands. There’s a crimson blush on Oikawa’s cheeks and a haze on his eyes. Hajime can’t but arch an eyebrow at the sight of him, not really sure if he wants to ask. After spending a month in Oikawa’s constant company, Hajime has started to pick on some of his antics. The man is sharp and polite and more than not wryly rude, no matter how sweet or soft his voice is. Joking about his expression now will probably only earn Hajime a mustered, awful response.

So he gives Oikawa one of the mirrors for him to keep in front of him, and steps on his back, where he lifts his to reflect the tattoo.

Hajime studies Oikawa’s reaction on the mirror, how his eyes roam around the lines of the drawing, how he sees him open them widely in surprise when he starts picking small details here and there. Like the balls of luck in the dragons hands, like the profile of a serving fox on the dragon’s tail, like the shapes of the gods of lightning and wind on the koi’s scales. Hajime has been drawing on him on instinct, a month of reading Oikawa and spending so many hours together enough to give him a hint of what Oikawa likes.

Yet, bubbles tickle inside Hajime’s chest. He knows it’s a beautiful work, he just wishes is an adequate one, no matter what his gut has forced him to draw.

“It’s amazing, Iwa–chan.” There’s reverberation on his voice. “I— I love it.”

Hajime swallows soundly and flinches when Oikawa’s eyes, feverish, fall on him through the mirror. “It feels like you just caught my soul on that tattoo.”

“I tried,” Hajime whispers with a shy smile. “I’m glad you like it. We will—”

Hajime has just left the mirror on one of the side tables when Oikawa grabs his wrist. It’s not forceful nor harsh, but Hajime’s body halts. The loud beating of his heart is playing on stereo in every cell of his body, and he needs a second to grow some excuse of control before he plasters a polite smile on his face and turns around to face Oikawa.

The damn bastard is beautiful, but that’s something Hajime already knows. He has his lips parted, red and swollen from bitting them during the three hours they’ve spent in this room. Hajime has already noticed this before, but now it feels like a neon sign right on his face. Oikawa has never complained about the pain, and sometimes it even felt like he enjoyed it. Like he was looking for it.

The way he’s looking at Hajime now seems just like a clear agreement to that thought.

“Oikawa, we are—”

Why does Hajime’s gaze fall from Oikawa’s eyes to his crotch when the man shifts, Hajime doesn’t know. There’s really no explanation beyond the fact he’s been curious for weeks now, and the uncomfortable and yet already familiar feeling of a wave of warmth filling his stomach at the mere thought of what Oikawa _might_ have been about all this time.

Hajime notices the hard bulge instantly. He inhales a sharp breath. The damn sight travels directly to his cock, that twitches in clear interest. Yes, Oikawa is hot and Hajime has been working his back and admiring it in equal amount, but that changes nothing. Oikawa is a client and Hajime has never fucked a client, and he never will.

“Iwa–chan.”

“Let go, Oikawa. I need to,” Hajime clears his throat. His eyes are still glued to Oikawa’s fucking crotch, “bring your meds and cover you.”

Oikawa’s fingers brand Hajime’s skin when he doesn’t comply. “I see you looking at me.”

Hajime grunts and clicks his tongue. “Really? That’s the best you can say?” But the mocking tone Oikawa has used helps Hajime regain some control. His eyes are now on Oikawa’s again, and if the remains of this weird heat traveling through his system is getting warmer by the second, Hajime’s strong enough to ignore it.

“I like the way Iwa–chan looks at me.”

There’s a hint in there, and Hajime wonders if Oikawa has noticed the hundreds of times Hajime’s eyes have darted on him, studying him, drinking him, absorbing every small detail of his skin and his reactions. The fact Hajime’s design fits Oikawa’s unspoken soul so well is telling enough, but Hajime pretends it’s just coincidence and his skills, what has make it happen.

“I’m sure you do. Now, let me go. I have other clients to take care of.”

That seems to piss Oikawa off, somehow. He lets go of Hajime’s hand, the absence of his touch burning when Hajime takes a step back and walks through the door, saying, “I’m gonna give you an appointment for coloring next week, okay?”

Oikawa mumbles something unintelligible, but Hajime’s coward enough to keep walking away from him, and the sweet shiver running down his spine at the mere thought of what might have happened, if he didn’t have such tight morals.

 

*

 

Hajime’s losing his professionality and together with it, his mind. Oikawa has come for his coloring three times now, and each day Hajime has found himself staring at him with a new, unwelcoming light. Oikawa’s back is not a canvas to fill anymore, but a promise of something Hajime doesn’t have the guts to put a name to.

Oikawa has changed somehow too. He’s distant, but the hint Hajime has caught about his reactions to the needle’s pressure and the pain of it have proven themselves true. Oikawa, for some reason, has lost the pretence and now stays still and moans with every flick of Hajime’s hand. Hajime feels like a lewd, dirty man every time his hands falls on Oikawa.

And dammit, doesn’t he like it. On the last hour of today’s session Hajime’s sitting uncomfortably on his stool, the urgent pression of his cock against the front of his pants pulsating with every moan Oikawa lets out of his mouth. The damn minx. Hajime has no doubt Oikawa’s doing it on purpose, even if the pleasure the pain of the needle gives him is genuine.

“Can you stop already?” Hajime blurts out, the soft buzzing of the needle filling the room. Oikawa doesn’t move a muscle at Hajime’s angry words.

“Stop what, Iwa–chan?”

“You know _what_.”

Oikawa hums. Hajime has the impression the bastard’s smiling, but he’s pressing his forehead on the table, hidding his face. “If you don’t stop, I’ll have to—”

“I can’t help it,” Oikawa musters. “The pain’s sharper than the last times.”

“Not _that_ sharper.”

The table creaks when Oikawa raises his upper body and stares at Hajime. For some reason his hair is disheveled and his eyes glazy and Hajime has to swallow the knot that’s suddenly locked on his throat.

“I can’t forget the way Iwa–chan looked at me, either.”

“It’s not happening.” Hajime’s hand, the one with the needle, trembles when he says that. Oikawa’s eyes never leave his, but Hajime’s sure he notices.

“Aren’t I the last client of the day?”

“Oikawa—”

But Oikawa’s not listening. He turns his hips, lying on his side, keeping his sensitive back still away from the table, but showing Hajime what has been harboring on it all these hours of only-moans-silent work.

The needle almost falls from Hajime’s hand. Oikawa has come today with tight as shit pants, light enough to show the exact shape of his hard cock through the fabric. Hajime’s mouth dries out at the sight, and he makes a strangled sound when Oikawa lazily rocks his hips forward, as if teasing Hajime’s gaze to never leave his tempting shape.

“Oikawa—” Hajime warns with hoarse voice. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I can’t help it,” Oikawa musters, a hint of anger, a hint of conformism. “I tried to hold the… urges. But I can’t help what I like. And—” Oikawa sits, then, and leans towards Hajime. “You. It’s hard to ignore my own arousal when I can feel yours working on me.”

“I’ve never—”

“Oh, I know. You were careful.” Oikawa hooks his feet on Hajime’s shin, and pulls. The wheeled stool has nothing to do against such feverish strength. Nor does Hajime. “You never reacted much.” The way Oikawa’s eyes fall on Hajime’s crotch talks on its own, although Hajime knows he’s obviously reacting now. “But I felt it on the way you touched me, and the way you looked at me, and the tattoo you made for me. Iwa–chan.” Hajime grunts in desperation when Oikawa’s words caress his lips. “Fuck me?”

There’s a loud, unforgiving pounding on Hajime’s temples and on his lips and on his swelling cock. The needle’s still vibrating on his hand. He has the urgent thought of letting it go and run, of putting Oikawa back on his face and finishing his work.

“Oikawa—” Hajime whispers, not sure what his next words would have been, because something snaps inside his chest, and instead of finishing his sentence, he leans forward and crashes his lips on Oikawa’s.

The moan Oikawa lets out is sweet and soft and Hajime eats it whole, because he has his mouth open and ready right where Oikawa’s lips are opening in invitation. Hajime’s hand trembles with the needle. His tongue crashes with Oikawa’s. “Ah, Iwa–chan.”

Hajime drinks his pet name, his hand tangled on Oikawa’s hair, pulling him. Oikawa moans so loud Hajime feels it on his chest, and so he does it again. The pain, Hajime has learned in these long weeks of work, is Oikawa’s weak spot.

“Use it on me,” Oikawa pants, his hands traveling through Hajime’s chest right into his cock.

Hajime flinches. “What?” He dazes his gaze around. “Use what?”

“The needle,” Oikawa explains, breathless. “Use it on me while you hammer your cock in my ass.”

“I’m not gonna use an inked needle while I fuck you.”

There’s a tense second of silence, broken by Oikawa’s soft giggle. “But you _will_ fuck me.”

Hajime’s blank expression is answer enough to that stupid statement. “No, Oikawa, I’m here with a hard-on and kissing you because I intend on walking back home with a pair of blue balls.”

“Not if I can help it,” Oikawa purrs, and Hajime’s cock twitches. “Please? Use the needle on me?”

There’s a blush on Oikawa’s cheeks when he says that, and although his tone is mocking and pompous, Hajime has no trouble reading the underlying insecurity of his request. Hajime’s not sure how sex requests work, for he has always been a pretty simple man on those matters. But he can imagine how hard it must be to ask for something regular society’s not ready to accept as _normal_ or _proper_.

“I’m not using the inked needle,” Hajime repeats, and a flash of disappointment fills Oikawa’s eyes. “Let me stand. I’m gonna unplug it.”

Oikawa leans back, his gaze now on the ground. Hajime’s heart stutters. He only stares at him a second longer, though, and goes back to unplug the needle. Oikawa hasn’t moved an inch since Hajime stood, and Hajime takes advantage of his distraction to fumble through some of the drawers he has around.

No welcoming receives him when Hajime goes back to the stool. Although Oikawa’s cock’s still shaped on his pants, Hajime can’t but notice the arousal has decreased some levels of hardness.

“Wanna continue?”

Oikawa shrugs. “Sure.”

“Would you undo your pants for me?” Oikawa’s eyes widen a bit at the soft command. Hajime has a quiet smile on his lips, when Oikawa’s gaze finally goes back to him. Oikawa needs a second to notice the new tools Hajime has in his hands, but when he does, Hajime can hear him stop breathing. “I said I wasn’t using an inked needle.”

“What’s—” Oikawa inhales shakily. “What’s that.”

“Old Japanese tattoo tools. My grandfather used to be a yakuza tattoo artist.”

“Oh.” Hajime can’t help the wolfish smile when Oikawa’s obvious interest translates into his cock, hardening visibly under his pants. “You’re gonna—”

“Take your pants off.” It’s not a question anymore. Oikawa lingers a second before following the order, sliding off the table and right between Hajime’s open legs. The grin on Hajime’s mouth is like a star, when Oikawa looks down at him, thumbs caught on his pants’ waist. His bare chest raises with uneven speed, and Hajime can’t but lick his lips at the sight.

“Well?” Oikawa titles his head to the side at Hajime’s teasing, and swirling his hips in slow waves, he starts pushing down his pants. Hajime’s heart is a loud drum on his ears and inside the cage of his ribs, but he never lets his gaze fall from Oikawa’s shining eyes.

Hajime hears the pants fall into the ground, Oikawa watching him with parted lips. Hajime smirks. He leans forward, just a breath, and kisses the soft skin below Oikawa’s navel. Oikawa barely reacts, but then Hajime bites him, and a low moan of satisfaction leaves those damn red and swollen lips.

Putting the tools behind Oikawa on the tattoo table, Hajime brings his now empty hands to Oikawa’s body. The sharp line of his thighs, the taut ass, the defined muscles on his chest. Damn, Hajime wants to paint all over him, draw patterns around his dark nipples, create maps of indescriptible beauty on the soft planes of his chest, a path to a treasure down his belly and right into his cock.

Hajime squeezes his asscheeks when he leans back to properly stare at him. Oikawa hasn’t moved since Hajime’s hands found his flesh, and he doesn’t now, when Hajime’s hungry gaze devours the swollen image of his cock. Hajime licks his lips again, and under his hands, Oikawa shivers.

“You’re dripping already.”

“Iwa–chan.” Hajime digs his fingers on his ass. Oikawa lets out a shaky breath. “Please.”

“Please what?”

But Oikawa’s glazy eyes seem feverish and unfocused, wishing for pleasure, but not sure how to find it. Hajime wonders what kind of encounters Oikawa has had before now to wear that expression, but he won’t ask. It doesn’t matter. If Oikawa has trouble wording his wants, then Hajime will find them out another way.

“Sit on the table,” Hajime commands, and Oikawa obeys with diligence. He sits with his legs softly opened, and Hajime has to hold a groan at the sight of his hard cock against the upper side of his thigh. The head is read, his balls resting softly on the black leather of the table. Hajime’s not sure of the outcome of this, but the sight of this complying Oikawa, so hard Hajime can almost feel the silky cock on his mouth, annihilates any thought Hajime can harbor that’s not related to fucking Oikawa to the next planet.

Without leaving the stool, Hajime grabs the tools he discarded a second ago. Oikawa’s muscles stiffen at the sight of them, the two long sticks with several small needles on the end as historically beautiful as they seem painful.

Hajime coaxes Oikawa’s legs to open widely when he takes a step forward, moving together with the stool. Oikawa sighs and then moans when Hajime grabs his knees and opens him even more.

Ah, the views. Hajime’s eyes can’t leave the sight of Oikawa’s cock, and when he brings up his trained hands and runs the sharp ends of one of the needles through the inner side of his thigh, he sees it twitch in answer. The head drips. Hajime inhales harshly and repeats the movement, harder now, leaving white lines that rapidly become red.

Oikawa’s panting when Hajime’s other hand raises and starts doing the same on his other thigh. Hajime’s using more pressure now, a bit scared he’s about to break his skin if he goes hard enough, but with the absolute certainty Oikawa will love that if it actually happened.

“ _Iwa–chan_ ,” Oikawa moans with uneven breaths. Hajime wonders how would he react if he lets the needles fall on his hard, throbbing cock.

Instead of doing that, Hajime stands. Oikawa has a soft blush on his cheeks and a cloud of pleasure and want on his eyes. Hajime wants to kiss him again. He leans forward, just a bit, and Oikawa breathes in soundly, as if he were waiting to drink Hajime’s oxygen.

Hajime smiles, and stays just a hint away from his lips. The old needles are now carving lines up Oikawa’s hips, past his waist and right on his nipples. Oikawa whimpers, still like a statue, goose bumps decorating his already painted body.

There’s something sweet and absorbing in the way Oikawa stays still and gives himself to Hajime’s hands. A sign of trust, or of absolute desperation. Hajime doesn’t know which, doesn’t know if Oikawa is now opening his legs to accommodate him in a conscient action, or if it’s a need that has taken over his mind and it’s now commanding him. Hajime aches to touch his cock, to stroke him into oblivion, but if Oikawa likes pain, then pain is what Hajime will give him.

He leans forward and closes his teeth on Oikawa’s nipple. He bites hard, while his hand digs on Oikawa’s skin with the same strength. Oikawa shudders under Hajime’s touch and jerks unbidden, his iron control finally lost to the oh so needed pain. Hajime hums on his skin, and starts running the needles through his chest in a clumsy tangle of movements.

Oikawa makes the best of sounds. Hajime bites his nipple and then the soft skin on his collarbone, he even sucks on the hollow at the bottom of his neck, and meanwhile Oikawa’s moaning and gasping and pleading for more. “Iwa–chan, Iwa–chan, I want—” Hajime bites his other nipple, and together with the needle, he leaves a paint of red lines and curved teeth marks on him.

Inflicting pain has never been one of Hajime’s kinks.

Until now. Oikawa cries out when Hajime runs one of the needles up his shaft, softly, so softly it can barely be called a touch. Hajime’s not sure if he’s this hard because the power this encounter is giving him is a drug on his system, or if he is, plainly said, intoxicated by Oikawa.

Oikawa and his lewd sounds. Oikawa and his beautiful body. Oikawa and his words filled with underlying truths. Oikawa and that mouth Hajime wants to kiss and ravish and see around his cock while Oikawa wears a collar and a leash, so Hajime can enjoy a blowjob as much as Oikawa can get hard on his own pain.

Hajime kisses Oikawa’s mouth to quiet the fantasy and to make it bloom. Oikawa is soft and open and hard on his lips, the passivity of his reactions gone at the touch of Hajime’s hungry kiss. Somehow Hajime manages to take a hold of the needle in his palm, and while he forces Oikawa to change the angle and deepen the kiss, Hajime’s hand closes around Oikawa’s shaft and starts stroking him, the needle between his fingers.

“ _Ahhhhh_ ,” Oikawa can’t properly answer Hajime’s kiss, he can’t even close his eyes, the pleasure and the pain so much he’s rocking against Hajime’s hand with abandon, a hand on Hajime’s nape, the other holding the table and moving it with him every time his hips reach forward. “ _Iwa— Ahhhh, it’s so good—_ ”

Moans and grunts fill the room, the creak of the table alluring and still not enough. Hajime’s panting together with Oikawa, his hand faster and faster. He’s holding Oikawa’s hip, so hard he can already see bruises where his fingers are digging in. Hajime can’t step away from Oikawa’s mouth, although kisses are now sloppy and wet and clumsy. He bites Oikawa’s lower lip, trying to hold himself, trying to give Oikawa even more pleasure. He’s scared of seeing his hand’s work, of seeing the damage he’s doing on Oikawa’s cock, although Oikawa’s enjoying it so much his eyes are almost rolled into his skull.

“Shit.”

“ _I_ _wa–chaaan._ ”

Hajime steps away, and Oikawa complains in a moan so loud Hajime feels it on the core of his bones. His hands are shaking while he tries to undo his pants. Hajime can’t take his eyes away from the spasms on Oikawa’s belly, his cock red not only by the swollen need but by the sharp heads of the needle. His cockhead is dripping precum with no stop, and Hajime has to bite his tongue to hold a shameful whimper at the sight.

“ _Please_.”

Finally Hajime manages to open the damn pants. He takes his cock out, already so hard and so ready it’s impossible to believe. There’s rush on his movements, clumsiness on his way back. He opens Oikawa and then drags him to the border of the table to see his hole on all its glory.

Hajime touches it softly with the head of his cock, and a ray of conscience filters through the mist of pleasure clouding his mind. “Fuck. I don’t have lube.”

“In my bag,” Oikawa whines softly. Hajime looks at him with a frown, but the pulsating of his cock keeps him from asking any questions. “Hurry up.”

It takes Hajime a long fucking minute to finally find the damn lube and a condom on one of the side pockets. On his way back to Oikawa, shaken legs, trembling hands, Hajime puts the condom and pours lube on his hand and his cock. He strokes himself slowly one time, spreading the lube, and he groans loudly when he gets to Oikawa, who’s now softly leaning on his elbows, his ass out the table, one of his feet on the stool.

“ _Hurry_ ,” Oikawa mouthes.

“You like it hard?”

Oikawa nods eagerly. “Just get in.”

Hajime smears lube on Oikawa’s hole, teasing just the right amount. He slips a finger in without warning, and Oikawa complains. Hajime pants, the tight ring of muscles hot and wet around him. He can just imagine how good Oikawa will feel when he gets inside. A low groan echoes on his throat and he pulls his finger out just to put in two next, all the way to the knuckle. Oikawa’s breath catches.

“Come here.” Hajime’s not thinking anymore when he grabs Oikawa’s head and Oikawa’s hip, and with a single thrust he enters his ass as his tongue enters his mouth.

The sound that leaves Oikawa’s mouth is the most loudest, sweetest thing Hajime has ever tasted. His hole clenches on him, adapting, but Oikawa grabs Hajime’s ass and squeezes in silent command.

Hajime needs no more. He starts hammering Oikawa harsh and constant, moving them both together with the table around the room. Oikawa tears his mouth away and cries silent screams of pleasure, eyes widen, hands digging on Hajime’s asscheeks. Swirling his hips in an unconscious reaction, Oikawa lets his head fall back, the taut line of his neck pale and perfect. Hajime bites the skin above his Adam’s apple, and he feels Oikawa’s whimper right through his teeth.

“Fuck, fuck, Oikawa, you feel so good, fuck.”

Oikawa’s mouthing, _yes, yes, yes_. Hajime wants to grab his cock and stroke him to orgasm, but he’s scared if he lets go of his hips he’ll send them both to the ground, that hard he’s pounding on him. Oikawa lifts his legs trying to widen himself, trying to feel Hajime deeper. Hajime’s not sure how he does it, but he manhandles Oikawa until his knees are on Hajime’s shoulder and Hajime is hammering his ass with no restrain anymore, hitting right into Oikawa’s sweet spot with hard thrusts.

This position gives Hajime enough freedom to keep him grounded _and_ grab his cock. He manages to take a hold of one of the needles, that has magically stayed on the table no matter how much it’s quivering, and putting it against his palm just as before, Hajime fists Oikawa’s cock.

The way Oikawa tries to arch his back almost sends them both to the ground, but with a groan Hajime manages to keep them in place, never losing the maddening speed of his thrusts or the spot-on aim of his cock’s head. Oikawa can’t scream anymore, the pleasure so overwhelming it has taken over his ability to speak, and half of his ability to breathe. Hajime strokes him, hand and needle together sheathing his shaft and takes him into an exploding orgasm.

Oikawa’s silent when he comes, although by the shape of his mouth he has a loud scream caught on his throat. He spills all over Hajime’s hand and on his own chest, and by reflex, Hajime stops his thrusts, the clenching of his ass as tempting as it’s good. Oikawa’s still riding his orgasm, spasms everywhere on his muscles and his belly and his still spending cock, when he grabs Hajime’s ass and urges him to finish.

Right, pain. Oikawa likes pain. Hajime’s thrusts are urgent and clumsy now, fast and wet and needy. Half way into his own orgasm, Oikawa regains his vocal abilities, and Hajime comes with the sound of his moans and his encouraging words ringing on his ears.

He groans loud and shakes while he gives two more thrusts until he comes hard enough to fall like a doll without strings on Oikawa. They are both spent and weak, and the table has moved enough during their encounter for neither of them to know exactly how it stands.

Hajime has no strength to grunt when they fall on the cold ground, a mix of limbs and sweaty bodies tangled together. Hajime’s on his back, still inside Oikawa’s warm, wet body, Oikawa on top of him. Oikawa’s drumming heart syncs with Hajime’s, and they stay there, regaining a bit of conscience, until Hajime swirls his hips and finally exits Oikawa’s warmth.

It’s Oikawa who manages to sit on Hajime and pull the condom away. He throws it on the garbage without standing up from Hajime’s belly, and then he stays there, watching somewhere else. Hajime’s the cuddling type. He wants to grab Oikawa and hug him until the aftershocks of their orgasms fade away, or until the freezing ground forces them to leave it.

“Come here.”

Oikawa flinches. He stares at Hajime shyly, as if Hajime wanting a bit more of time were as unexpected as it’s welcoming. Oikawa doesn’t say anything when he goes back on top of Hajime, resting his head on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Hajime’s hands are on his sides, not wanting to touch the new tattooed parts on his back.

“Yeah,” Oikawa whispers softly. Hajime kisses his forehead, unable to stop himself, and Oikawa snuggles against him, his nose buried on Hajime’s neck.

“Was that—” Hajime clears his throat, the heat of a blush starting to crawl uncomfortable and yet unstoppable. “Was that good? For you?”

Hajime can feel Oikawa’s smile on him. “Yes. It was amazing. Thank you, Iwa–chan.”

Shit, this is why Hajime never does this kind of things. He’s not sure how to ask what could potentially be the most embarrassing question of tonight. “I, uhm, would you like to do it again… maybe?”

The stillness in Oikawa’s body is obvious, but once again, Oikawa didn’t move a single muscle when their teasing had begun. Hajime’s not sure what a halted Oikawa means.

“Really?”

Hajime blinks into the ceiling. “You mean really as in, _really you want more of_ this,” Hajime says that last bit with disgust, “or like in _really you_ also _want more of this_?”

Oikawa chuckles on his chest, and Hajime looks down at him when he feels Oikawa shift, his hands under his chin, his palms right above Hajime’s crazy heart. “I mean it as in, _I was planning on asking you out on a date today but then I feel I forced this to happen so I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me ever again_.”

“That’s dumb,” Hajime deadpans, and Oikawa laughs again. “Of course I want to see you again. And—” Hajime feels the blush has finally reached his face. Shit, being a tomato blusher is the worst, because he can see Oikawa’s eyes gleam in a new light at the sight of it. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

Oikawa has the prettiest of smiles, Hajime finds out then, and for his utter and most desperate surprise, he discovers he has a kink for those, too.

**Author's Note:**

> (ﾉ*’ω’*)ﾉ彡┻━┻
> 
> (i just can't help them flipping the table around, so the kaomoji is sort of perfect for this, isn't it). why can't i write pure sex without fluff stuff at some point, i don't know but no regrets. i adore these two too much. 
> 
> if you're interested, here you have [my blog](https://negare-boshi.tumblr.com).


End file.
